through these eyes
by krisnreine
Summary: A series of loosely connected vignettes - the love story of Robert and Cora through the eyes of those around them. I'm fascinated by third person POV stories, and how different characters interpret what they see.
1. Bird and Tree, Sun and Sky

...through these eyes i see your truth...

_A series of loosely connected vignettes - the love story of Robert and Cora through the eyes of those around them. They are not even remotely chronological and many chapters are named from something that showed up on itunes while I was writing them. However it is NOT songfic. ;) I'm fascinated by third person POV stories, and how different characters interpret what they see. _

_M rating for individual chapters, not the entire story. No idea how many chapters there will be. Let's just take it as it comes, shall we?_

_**I. Bird and Tree, Sun and Sky**_ (K+)

If Richard Carlisle was honest with himself, the entire trip to this god-forsaken corner of the country had netted him very little. Mary was infuriatingly distant and he could almost touch the Earl's disdain; it was so thick it was nearly corporeal.

He would have been lying if he said he didn't hope to get a bit more out of the invitation, if not more forward motion with Lady Mary then certainly a little bit of gossip to take home to his paper. He'd often heard, even reported on, the more lascivious lives of the peerage and he believed that Downton Abbey had the same predilection towards secrets and intrigue. But he would give them this: if they were no more proper than the others, they were certainly far more discreet.

It seemed even the servants, usually so easily bought with a few pounds, would close ranks around their beloved family in a show of loyalty that Richard thought was more than a little naive. As if the family wouldn't sell one of them down the river if it meant less scandal on the house.

In any case, he found himself wandering the vast estate beside Mary as her parents walked a few steps ahead, no doubt speaking of him and his appearance in Mary's social sphere. Lady Grantham was kind enough, beautiful but a little dull, following her husband quietly. He'd expected more from the American and was more than a little disappointed to find she thought her husband hung the moon. Easily directed by him, she was exactly the kind of wife Richard expected Mary not to be. That suited him quite well.

And Lord Grantham...well. Richard wasn't convinced he didn't have a lover on the side, as many men of his station did, but he'd yet to find any evidence. He was insufferably full of himself, sold on his own power in this little corner of England. If it didn't mean putting his courtship of Mary at risk, Richard would take great pleasure in removing the self-satisfied grin from the Earl's face. He was comforted by the thought that having Mary for a wife would be enough to cause the great and powerful Earl much consternation, to speak nothing of the irritation of the old Dowager.

"I'm tired." Mary spoke through a sigh, breaking a lasting silence between them. "Let's go back to the house. I'll just tell Mama..."

"No, let me." Richard waved her off. "You head back and I'll catch up to you."

The Earl and Countess had disappeared around a bend several moments earlier and Richard jogged in their direction as Mary turned to trudge back to the house. The set of Mary's shoulders told him she wasn't simply tired of the walk, and he wondered if he'd given away his private thoughts somehow. She didn't seem to want to quarrel with him, but she was certainly keen to judge him.

Irritation spiked but he held his tongue. Anything worth having was worth the fight to get it, and he truly believed Mary Crawley was something worth having. A bit of a rebel, outspoken and with a tendency to resist the family order (or so he'd heard) meant she was just the kind of woman who would marry a mere reporter into her vaunted family halls. And of course, wasn't he just that reporter.

Turning the corner Richard drew himself up short and stepped sideways behind a low-hanging branch. It was mostly bare, the entire countryside preparing for winter, but the couple he watched took little notice.

It seemed the Earl did, in fact, have a lover. He stood in his wife's arms, his wide palms resting gently on her waist. Her gloved hand cupped his face and she placed several chaste kisses against his lips, her thumb brushing up over his cheekbone. Crawley's fingers flexed against the material over her hips and she stepped even closer to him.

It was fascinating to watch such an intimate moment in such an exposed place. But they were mindless of possible interruption and Lady Grantham rocked back on her heels, dragging her husband towards her, fingers curling against his neck, tugging him closer. They stumbled just a bit, shared a touch laughter, and their kisses resumed.

It was the flash of the Lady's pink tongue as her husband scooped her forward into his embrace that finally forced Richard's hand. He may not have any great love for the Earl, but he had no desire to humiliate Lady Grantham by becoming a voyeur to this passion. And so he stepped sideways, purposely crunching on a rather large twig.

The effect was instant and Crawley loosed of his wife's waist and she slid to stand, looking at Richard over her husband's shoulder.

"Mr. Carlisle?" She asked, and to his surprised she didn't look the least flustered. Her hands had slid into Crawley's lapels and she held her husband there, not slackening her grip on him.

Her eyes were bright, her cheeks a breathlessly rosy pink. Her mild expression gave way to the amused quirk of her lips.

Richard wondered internally if he hadn't underestimated the wiles of Lady Cora Crawley, or at least the spine.

"Mary is tired and has headed back. I'll catch up and escort her back." He let his gaze slide over them, finally rising to meet Robert's. The older man's ears burned fuschia at the tips, but Richard gave him credit for remaining stoic. Of course. His blood and training could never truly be overcome by passion, even as the lovely woman and his arms tried to light that fuse.

"Don't wait for us." Cora dropped her hands from Crawley's label and threaded her arms through his, urging him deeper into the bare woods of the estate. "We'll be back shortly."

As Richard turned back in the direction Mary had gone, he made a mental note to inspect their appearance when they returned. He had a feeling they would return more rumpled than they'd gone.

Respectable indeed.


	2. Watermark

**II. Watermark** (M)

It had been four months since her Ladyship's incident in the bathtub. Four months of sponge baths and her Ladyship's tentative trips into the room that shattered her future and her faith. Four months that found Sarah O'Brien doing daily penance for becoming something that, once upon a time, she never would have imagined.

_Murderer_, her thoughts betrayed, the lone word whispered to her and she would swallow back the rise of guilt and bile.

She vowed to spend every last moment in Lady Grantham's employ using her impressive (if she did say so herself) cunning to protect her Ladyship. She had become a self-prescribed sentry.

So when her Ladyship that O'Brien draw her a bath, for the first time since the accident, the maid faltered.

"It's time, O'Brien." Cora said in her quiet way which meant she was doing it but she didn't have to like it.

"Yes, m'lady." O'Brien nodded and set to her task, albeit with great trepidation. Making up her mind, she excused herself under the guise of seeking out fresh linens. A quick detour through the main hall ensured she ran into Lord Grantham who, as expected, asked after his wife.

"She's preparing for a bath, m'lord." Sarah was pleased to see him pale somewhat before nodding curtly in dismissal. He took the stairs two at a time and O'Brien continued on. He would not let her Ladyship face it alone.

She took her time back getting back to the bedroom and when she returned there was the slightest trickle of steam coming through the cracked bathroom door. She turned to set out her Ladyship's things but froze at the sound of her employer's sharp gasp and muffled sob.

Cold dread filled O'Brien as she made her way quietly to the door. She was terrified of what she'd find on the other side. Lady Grantham, once more in a pool of her own blood? Or worse, sitting quietly and alone in a tub, her naked grief so raw that O'Brien would feel her own stomach clench in response.

A hundred different scenarios raced across her mind's eye in the few steps it took to get from the bed to the door, but whatever she had imagined to see, it was not anything remotely near to the reality.

His Lordship knelt beside the tub, his jacket thrown carelessly across the sink and his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. His expression was a mixture of naked devotion and sadness. His large palm gently cupped the back of his wife's neck as she reclined in the water. Her back was to O'Brien so all she could see was her dark hair piled on her head, her frail hands clutching the edges of the tub, and the very tops of her knees breaking through the water and resting wide against the sides.

It took several moments for O'Brien to digest the scene before her, the curling tendrils of steam, the swallowed sobs of her Ladyship and the rhythmic movement of his Lordship's other hand beneath the water.

"Robert," the word slipped from Lady Grantham's lips like a prayer, her voice heavy and desperate, and O'Brien could not ignore the shimmer of wetness ringing his Lordship's eyes.

"I love you," He spoke gruffly and leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead.

When Lady Grantham's back arched and her knuckles whitened against the tub, it was the sound of pleasure and pain, a relieved keening, that chased O'Brien away from the door, out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

She was no stranger to the baser urges of the Lord and Lady of Downton. More than a decade in their employ and she had witnessed them in the various stages of love and lust, dress and undress. Keeping the secrets of those stolen views into their intimate life was part and parcel of her position. Though she often could be found to use a good secret to serve her own ends, this particular knowledge she guarded against friend or foe. It wasn't to be fodder for the downstairs.

Yet as many times as she had unwittingly walked in on some scene or another, she had never born witness to something between them so rife with emotion and pain.

Pain she, herself, had caused.

And though O'Brien would file this along with all the others, in the place of things we do not speak of, she would long be haunted by the realization of what, exactly, her bitterness and anger had stolen and thank God that their partnership was strong enough to withstand it.


	3. Boulevard of Broken Dreams

**III. Boulevard of Broken Dreams**

When Cora was young, not quite a woman but very nearly, Martha sat her down and explained to her the likely outcome of her future. She tried to soften the blow of an arranged marriage and impress upon her daughter the importance of her role in maintaining - even lifting - the Levinson name. With bright blue eyes and an earnest expression, Cora appeared beside herself at the excitement of it all - of going across the seas, of finding a husband.

At the time, Martha believed it was the very best thing for her girl because it was the very best thing for the family. At the time, being fashionable and having a child marry into the aristocracy was The Mode and Martha was desperate to be in the mainstream.

At the time, she'd no idea what it would feel like to sell her child into what would likely be a loveless marriage, and return across the endless expanse of an ocean alone. How it would wear on her to miss the life not only of her only girl, but of her beloved granddaughters as well. She had been ill-prepared to one day come to the realization that, biology aside, Cora had become more of Violet Crawley's daughter than her own.

What time and distance had done for Martha was make her bitter. She resented the title her husband paid for, resented the tradition that kept her eldest granddaughter from inheriting what was rightfully hers. Resented that they all, even her fiery and brave Cora, seemed so content with the status quo.

It was not the life she'd wanted for future generations and yet it was exactly the life she'd sought for them.

At the occasion of Mary's marriage, Martha spent much of her time watching. Observing. Taking mental notes. The pleasant relaxed atmosphere of young Sybil's rebellious romance. The quiet burn of hope in inwardly passionate Edith. The apparent happiness of Mary in her choice.

And then there was Robert, who appeared to care very much for his children and his wife, but who nonetheless was English. Violet, who didn't bother to hide her disdain and for whom Martha could always be counted on to come out swinging for. The oddly off-putting Isobel Crawley who had high-minded, forward thinking ideals but the same British insistence that her way was the very best.

It brought out the fighter in Martha, and the cynic.

It also brought out the alcoholic.

Not of the falling-down inebriated sort, anyway, but the kind who needed a stiff cocktail to make it through the unending hours of propriety.

It was at Mary's wedding that she, perhaps, overindulged. She stood in the grand foyer with the family wishing the guests a farewell. Not quite steady on her feet, she leaned casually against one of the pillars and watched as the various members of Their Set handed out well-wishes and thanks for a lovely afternoon. Night had fallen on them while they celebrated and most of the revelers were just a bit shy of tipsy. Cora stood, as always, at Robert's side and played her part as the Countess. It did lift Martha's heart just a bit to see her daughter's straight spine and delicate shoulders, and the deference paid to her. That had, after all, been the point. To achieve for Cora the respect and admiration in England that a nouveau riche family in America couldn't attain.

As the last of the visitors filtered out of the foyer and down the steps, Cora seemed to sag against Robert's chest, her head tucking beneath his chin. Their words were murmured therefore inaudible to Martha, but Robert made soothing passes over his wife's back as he held her close. As she pulled away, Martha caught Cora's smile in profile and happiness radiated from her. Weariness and utter happiness and she tilted forward to press her lips to Robert's cheek. Instead he turned and they shared a gentle, yet loving, kiss.

After several long moments the couple stepped apart and Cora turned to head up the stairs, her expression soft and pleased. Martha took the opportunity to move away from the pillar and up onto the first stair just as Cora reached the bottom.

"Oh, Mother." Cora startled and smiled before reaching out a hand to grasp her mother's. "It was lovely, wasn't it?"

Martha nodded. "Yes, lovely."

Cora must have been able to sense the odd note in her tone, for her brows drew together quizzically. "You didn't think so?"

Martha leaned forward and pulled Cora into a quick, sloppy hug. "No, no, it was beautiful and Mary seems happy."

"She loves Matthew." Cora's tone was sharp. She knew her mother didn't exactly approve, feeling that Mary was settling into marriage to achieve her inheritance. Considering Martha's own actions when Cora was just a girl, her concern seemed contrived at best.

"You loved Robert." Martha reminded her. Cora loved Robert, desperately, and the young man had been merely cordial. The first year the letters she received from her daughter had been filled with longing and despair and loneliness.

"I love Robert." Her daughter corrected gently. "He has made me very happy and I know, with my whole heart, that Matthew will make Mary very happy."

Martha shrugged a little and began to ascend the stairs beside her daughter, leaning just a touch on Cora's arm for balance. Where Cora was, and always had been, an unflinching optimist, Mary was not. In her eldest granddaughter Martha saw a bit of herself, and a lot of the old woman. Infuriating pragmatism, a wickedly cool head, and the ability to withstand any manner of discomfort for the sake of the whole ridiculous estate. Perhaps in the years away Martha had missed something- some softening- that truly meant a happy future for Mary. But she was still skeptical.

"Let's not argue," Cora sighed as they reached the top of the staircase and Martha shrugged again. She wasn't arguing, she was just _saying_.

"Argue about what?" Robert caught up behind them just at the top of the stair and placed a hand on Martha's elbow when the older woman jumped. "Steady now."

"Mother isn't convinced that Mary is marrying Matthew for love." Cora spoke bluntly, but with a bit of a sideways grin. Perhaps a joke she shared with her husband.

"I didn't say that."

"You most certainly did!" Cora closed both of her palms around her mother's but looked over at Robert. "She's worried Mary is making the same mistake she made for me."

When Martha opened her mouth to argue, Cora raised a brow and the older woman fell silent.

"And I've told her that Mary loves Matthew a great deal. So she must let it go and go to bed."

Feeling a bit chastised, Martha cut her eyes sideways to her son-in-law, who was smirking at his wife, no doubt pleased.

"Now, Mother, we are going to bed as well." She gave Martha a quick hug and backed away, holding out her palm to Robert. "Have you dismissed the servants?"

Robert's grin was silly as he took Cora's hand. "I have."

"Then we'll say goodnight. Good night, Mother."

"Good night, daughter. Robert." Martha stood and watched Cora lead her husband away down the dark hallway, their hushed whispers and laughter floating out of the shadows back to her.

With one last shrug...to the house, the watching portraits on the wall, to England...she turned and made her way towards her room.

Perhaps they would be fine.

Perhaps they would be happy.

Thinking on Cora and Robert she mused. Stranger things have happened.


	4. Lovers Will

**IV. Lovers Will** (K)

The Lady of the house was healing. Though there was a pall over the loss of Miss Lavinia, it seemed as though the strength of the house re-emerged with each hour of her Ladyship's recovery. The gloom and fear that gripped the residents of the house lifted day by day, and even stodgy Carson could be found humming to himself.

Jane watched the transformation with ambivalence. There was great relief, because her guilt would have been unending if she had taken a woman's husband on her last days of life. There was also great sorrow, for she knew Robert - his Lordship - would never stray now.  
It mattered little as she was in her last days of service and would be out of the house, and their lives, as quickly as she had appeared.

There was also some hope, however fleeting, that his Lordship would remember her fondly but as a woman who had experience with the harsher realities of life...well. It was terribly unlikely.

It was on an errand for Mrs. Hughes that Jane came across her Ladyship in the library, settled in with a book. She tried to back out of the room inconspicuously but the Lady's sharp gaze settled on her nonetheless.

"Jane, it's Jane, isn't it?" Cora asked, and her tone was nothing but polite inquiry.

"Yes, m'Lady." Jane stepped forward from the door and more fully in the Countess' line of sight.

"I hear you will be leaving us." Cora set aside her book and folded her hands in her lap.

A moment of white hot fear clutched at Jane's heart but she merely nodded.

"I'm sorry you'll be going. I do hope your time here has been good to you."

It was the older woman's gift, Jane decided, that made it impossible to tell if she was genuine or simply being catty. Her penetrating blue gaze never left Jane's face but her expression was impassive and didn't hint to either emotion.

"It has, m'Lady."

They sat in a silent deadlock, simply watching one another until Jane nodded and began to back out of the room.

"My regards to your son, and know that we have nothing but good wishes to you both." her ladyship spoke as Jane reached the door. "Truly."

Jane curtsied and turned blindly, escaping through the library door. She was just about to head towards the stairs down when she ran smack into his Lordship.

"Jane?" He asked, steadying her with hands on her upper arms. Too late he realized his familiarity and dropped his hands. Jane ached at the loss of contact. "Everything alright?"

She could manage only a nod for several seconds before she cleared her throat to speak. "I was just saying goodbye to her Ladyship."

In other circumstances, the wide-eyed alarm on his face would have made Jane giggle. Comically round and large, his mouth dropped open and his face reddened adorably.

"She wished me well. Do you think she means it?"

"Though the resemblance is uncanny, I don't believe my wife has morphed into my mother just yet. She isn't prone to saying things she doesn't mean." Robert scrubbed a hand over his face. "Cora is kind."

That he felt the need to defend her to Jane caused a little ripple of pain in her chest. "I'm needed downstairs."

He was about to let her go when his fingers circled her wrist and he pulled her to a stop. "I want to apologize again..."

He began but she held up a palm. They were beyond this. They had to be. "Don't. Please."

With that he nodded and disappeared into the library.

She should have left it at that - let it end with an apology and a goodbye. But it still mattered to Jane, mattered a great deal, that he should be happy. Days ago, she would have thought, however arrogantly, that she might have been able to design happiness for him. Reality was much too quick to show her the error of her ways, however, and she came to understand the true purpose of her role. She was a crutch for him, a step to the next phase of his future.

That didn't mean she could easily shuck her emotions, however, and she wanted to make sure he would be alright. She moved back to the door and gazed through the open crack. Her ladyship still sat on the sofa, her forgotten book on the table beside her. His lordship stood at his desk, back to his wife, his hands folded in front of him. His head was bowed and silence lingered between them.

"Can't we simply forget this happened?" Her ladyship asked, and it seemed like it wasn't the first time she'd made such a plea. "We must move on."

"Do you want to move on, Cora? Because I don't think you do."

"No, Robert." She was still not one hundred percent and the strain of the conversation could already be heard in her tired tone. "I don't think you do. Nothing I've done in recent months pleases you. I'm trying to support our daughters and your attentions are divided and elsewhere. Between Matthew. And Jane."

Jane may have gasped aloud so she pressed the back of her palm to her lips. So her ladyship did know.

"Don't speak of her." Robert said resignedly. "My shame is far too great. For wounding you and for using her."

Jane digested his words, realizing that they had discussed her before. It made her slightly ill - she thought their fleeting romance to be a beautiful secret they shared.

"I don't mean to throw it back at you, Robert. Not at all. But I have to know - what do I do to find myself back in your good graces? How have I failed to make you happy? Tell me, my darling, and I will do what I can to fix it."

"You did everything you could, Cora. You survived. You reminded me of my duty."

"Is that all I am to you?" Her ladyships hands balled into weak fists. "A duty?"

"I'm saying this all wrong."

"I should say so."

He finally turned to face her and Jane caught sight of his expression. So worn and broken. She wondered how her Ladyship could continue this argument, when her husband was so desperately beaten by it. Although if Jane was fair, her Ladyship's pale visage was not much better. Her current despair and recent bout of illness smudged dark beneath her eyes and made them shine desperately blue.

"If this is about that maid's son," Jane's cheeks reddened at her ladyship's words, the wellspring of bitter anger the by-product of a finely developed mother instinct. "I can understand the draw and my failure. But Robert, he is not your son, and Matthew isn't your son either. You've put him ahead of your daughters, made his happiness your priority. If you want to take a mistress, do so. I can't fight that. But I won't allow you to similarly replace our children. I won't allow you to rewrite our family that way.

"I won't fight you for myself," her Ladyship's voice wavered, heavy with resignation. "But I will fight you for my daughters, Robert. I will fight you for them."

His silver haloed head bowed and Jane longed to pull him to her, even as she watched him reach for his wife.

"I once thought that to have your heart was the wildest dream. Unattainable." Her Ladyship looked up, her eyes filled with pain and longing that Jane could well understand. The despair of losing one's husband, be it to war or the love of another, was unmatched. "And it would destroy me to lose it, especially knowing my neglect was partially to blame. But these are our daughters, Robert. I can't compromise for them. We made them together, in this house. How can you not see how important they are to me? They are the best of us."

"Mary is strong, she's a survivor. Sybil has already proved her mettle. And Edith...she'll prevail one way or another. I never thought I had to protect them because they had you, and Mama. I didn't mean to make it seem I didn't have an interest in their future and if you thought that, truly for one second, then I am so very sorry."

It was the defeat in his voice, more than anything, that had a tear rolling down Jane's cheek. A tear that was matched by the one tracking over Cora's chin to drop into the handkerchief curled in her fingers.

"My darling, how did we come to this place? I can see you. I can touch you. But I can't reach you. I've made terrible mistakes, Cora." He crouched beside her knees, his hands folded in her lap in supplication. He was every inch the broken man Jane saw him to be, and she felt a fire of resentment for the woman who lowered him so. She would never make so grand a man kneel to her, for she would spend her life making him feel the most magnificent man that ever lived.

"We've all made mistakes, silly man." Liquid laughter softened the statement as her palms reached out to cup her husband's cheeks. "It's simply that we promised, you and I, to face them together. Whatever happens, we share the burden together."

"I didn't want to be weak." He said at last, his cheek resting in her Ladyship's lap, his wife's fingers running gently circles through his silver curls. It was more intimate than an embrace and Jane longed to turn away, but bitter curiosity kept her rooted in place. "You were so strong, so brave and I was a forgotten man. A relic. How could I turn to you, who was far braver than I, to make me feel powerful again?"

And when her ladyship spoke again, the reality of their bitter triangle settled fully on Jane.

"Because I am your wife and I love you, no matter what."

"Even now?"

Her ladyship tilted her head to the right, a smile dancing with the corners of her mouth. "Especially now, as I've almost lost you."

Jane backed away from the crevice in the door, her palm pressed over her mouth. Her last image of her would-be lover would be indelibly marked on her mind, a reminder of what she had been up against...and perhaps what she should hope to attain in the future.

She left behind Robert Crawley, kneeling beside his wife. Her too-pale hands clutched him to her as she peppered kisses against his eyelids, blessing him with forgiveness and asking for it in return. In one agile motion, reminiscent of a much younger man he stood and swept her into his arms. Whether her ladyship giggled or a sobbed didn't matter, it was that he held her.

He held her above all things.

She was his wife.

* * *

I just finished my S2 rewatch and my blinding, bitter anger at Robert had all these mad feels through my head. So I had to write this, because I wanted him and Jane to be in PAIN. It would have caused a kind of chaos, however, to have Cora skewer them with a fireplace poker. ;)

Anyway. I'm still not sure I'm happy with it, but I'm letting it go because I want to get back to the zen place where I don't want to set Robert on fire.


	5. A Marriage Made In Heaven

**V. A Marriage Made In Heaven**

Despite the very rough start to her morning, little Lady Mary was quite pleased with how the day had gotten along. For several days she worked closely with Carson preparing for a family picnic in the Gardens. Very grown up for a girl of nine, she had paid attention to every detail and had driven the cook, Mrs. Tate, to extreme distraction with all of her nagging. Mary had intended for the day to be perfect. She foresaw a walk in the gardens with her parents (and baby Sybil...and Edith, she supposed) followed by a luncheon in the warm late spring sun. There was to be blankets spread across the grass, and delicious cakes and little finger sandwiches, salads and bread. She spent all of one afternoon with the Housekeeper practicing how to pour tea just right, so as not to overflow the cup.

And then, the day of the picnic dawned with awful, angry looking storm clouds on the horizon. Spring rains were common, Carson had tried to assuage her, and promised that the picnic could be rescheduled.

Using her considerable vocabulary and skill as a negotiator, Lady Mary had followed the Butler around for hours trying to persuade him to allow the picnic. Why she thought the Butler could change the weather nobody knew, but it was simply that the young lady had such faith in the man. In her estimation there were two perfect men in the world - her Papa and Carson. If Carson couldn't fix her broken picnic it was simply hopeless.

Luncheon came and went and the clouds turned into a drenching pour, punctuated by loud cracks of thunder and sharp forks of lightning. Edith, of course, made a terrible stink. She was terrified of storms, ever since she decided that the thunder was the footsteps of a giant who came to steal children.

Although where she heard that from, Mary had _no_ idea.

The grounds were still dark and wet when Mary was called down for tea. She didn't know why, exactly, she was being summoned to the first drawing room except that Nanny told her that Mama wanted to have tea with her. She supposed it was a consolation for her lovely picnic being cancelled. She entered the drawing room slowly, dragging her feet and keeping her eyes on the ground.

Nobody in the family would accuse Lady Mary of being dramatic - she'd never been prone to fits of histrionics or emotional shows of displeasure. Her disapproval was quieter, more internal, and felt far more strongly than a tantrum. When she finally raised her gaze to meet that of her mother's, her eyes were dazzled by the site before her.

Couches and end tables had been moved to the edges of the room, and the blankets she had carefully chosen for the picnic were thrown over the rugs nearest the fireplace. A lovely warm fire crackled and beside the blankets several low trays held the foot and china she had so lovingly selected. They had even moved a few of the larger plants closer to the blankets, giving the whole thing a very outdoorsy feel. Mama sat perched on her knees beside the blanket, baby Sybil crawling around beside her, while Edith clutched her Papa's lapels, still gazing out the windows suspiciously.

"Lady Mary, I thought you were going to miss tea!" Mama said cheerfully and patted the space beside her.

Instead of her usual sedate acquiescence, Mary flew across the space and into her mother's arms, wrapping her small arms around her Mama's neck.

"Oh Mama, it's wonderful."

Mama's smile was wide and warm and Mary spent a few extra seconds snuggled into her embrace. Her mama was always kind and gentle, and doting on all of her girls. But since baby Sybil was born, Mary felt it was childish to expect so much affection from her parents. She tried to remain stoic and distant, although she occasionally gave in. This was one of those times.

"You'll serve, Lady Mary?" Mama asked, when Mary finally straightened. "And Robert, do sit down."

Papa looked uncomfortable and slightly confused. Edith clung to his neck so desperately that he had to unwrap her arms from his neck.

"Now Edith, be a good girl and have some tea."

"But the giaaaaaaannnntsssss..." She wailed and Papa winced.

"Edith there are no giants."

"But Mary said..."

Mary, for her part, became immersed in the task of setting out plates and tea and studiously avoided her Papa's stern gaze at her back. It wasn't her fault if Edith couldn't tell the difference between a story and real life, was it?

It took several minutes for Mary to pass out the food and tea, and she beamed when her Mama complimented her on her very grown up manners. Once she was satisfied that everyone was well taken care of, Mary selected her own sandwich and pastry and then sat on the floor. She tried to sit like her mother, with her legs tucked gently to her side but found it uncomfortable. She fussed and fidgeted before finally giving in with a sigh.

"Mama, may I take my shoes off?" It was a bold request, but the little buckles dug into her ankles and made any position on the floor terribly uncomfortable.

"Of course, baby. Let me help." Mary moved to stand in front of her Mama.

"Cora, really." Papa began. "Do you think it's a good idea to indulge her? Isn't it bad enough we're eating sprawled on the floor like...like..."

"You won't finish that thought if you know what's good for you. Mary went to a great deal of trouble to prepare this meal, the least we can do is enjoy it."

"Picnics are acceptable, Papa." Mary told him very gravely. "I asked Granny and she said so long as it was supposed to be that way, it was alright. She did say Mama should probably sit in a chair, but she said so long as nobody saw..."

"So, Robert, are you afraid you'll be in trouble with your Mama?" Mama asked in an odd tone, and Mary was surprised to see her Papa's face redden.

"Of course not." He sputtered.

Mama removed Mary's shoes and set them aside and indicated that Mary should sit once more. It was much more comfortable barefoot, although she was careful to keep her feet tucked under her as a lady should.

Once the food was consumed and the servants called to take it away (Mary was forced to admit that it was possibly better to picnic in the house when you could just ring for someone to bring something or take it away. Outside meant one had to do it oneself, and Mary wasn't sure she liked that idea.) the girls busied themselves playing. Mary sat with Baby Sybil in her lap, running her fingers through her baby sister's hair. Unlike Edith, Sybil was born with loads of dark hair and was now just at an age where it was fun for Mary to brush it. Edith had been nearly bald and very tender headed, meaning that whenever Mary tried to do anything with her hair, her sister would usually end up red-face and squalling. Sybil, however, loved to have her hair played with and sat very contentedly while Mary brushed and plaited and twisted at her ringlets.

Mary knew her parents thought she was engrossed in her task and they chatted quietly. Papa had become much more comfortable with the arrangements and he sat very close to her Mama, occasionally reaching up to brush at her cheek. Mary had once heard Nanny telling one of the maids that the Lord and Lady were very romantic, but Mary wasn't sure she understood what that meant. They touched an awful lot, and her father was endlessly compliment her mother. Romantic or not, the steady relationship between her Mama and Papa made Lady Mary feel very safe.

"I'm glad you've finally relaxed, Robert." Mama spoke in a low tone, so as not to disturb the children. Mary had gotten very good at pretending to be engrossed at her task while also listening to the grown-ups chatter. She had to pay extra close attention so that she knew about things like the adults. That way they would be sure to have to listen to her.

"Well, my darling, you did offer to make it worth my while." Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw her parents exchange a little grin and something about it made her tummy turn. If her parents' steady relationship made her feel safe, sometimes is also made her feel ill. They could just be so...so...she shuddered.

Mama shifted and her expression was one of discomfort. She seemed to think on something for several seconds before she spoke.

"Robert, I know you won't approve but I simply must remove these boots. My ankles..."

Papa looked a little bit scandalized but he assented. The calming atmosphere of his daughters playing carefully, the warm fire, the filling tea...must have all conspired to make him less uptight than usual.

"All right." He assented. "But you must let me help you."

With a shy grin, Mama sat back and untucked her skirts. Papa scooted closer beside her and drew her ankle into his lap where he sat carefully and methodically unlacing the tall walking boot. Mama watched him work, high color staining her cheeks when Papa slid the boot from her foot and set it aside.

Mary felt her own face flush when her Papa's fingertips ran over her Mama's ankle, feeling as though she was seeing something she ought not. Which was silly, because it was just a foot.

By the time Papa had finished with the second shoe the atmosphere of the room had changed immensely. The air was thick and heavy, and the voices of her parents had deepened as they moved even closer to each other. Mama's foot stayed in Papa's lap and he drew lazy patterns over the silk of her stocking.

Every once in a while Mama would gasp, which was often followed by breathy laughter.

A quarter of an hour more passed when Mary could stand it no longer. The novelty of the "picnic" had worn off, Sybil had fallen asleep, and Edith was being terribly cranky. Her parents were in a world all of their own, which was obviously a place children weren't welcome.

"Shall I ring for Nanny?" Mary spoke, and her voice sounded terribly loud after the long minutes of muted conversation by her parents.

"I think that would be a good idea." Papa said, far too eagerly. Mary had an inkling about these things, ideas about what happened behind the closed door of her parents. She was wily and smart, and listened in on conversations that were none of her business. She wasn't exactly sure what her parents were often up to, but she did no she didn't want any part of it.

It was with relief that Mary allowed herself to be collected by Nanny and herded out of the drawing room. She chanced a glance back to where her parents still sat on the blankets.

The door closed just as her father leaned forward, pressing her mother to lie flat on the drawing room floor, her mother's arms curled around his neck.

It made Mary think of a story she'd read not two nights before.

_Happily ever after._

Silly, she thought. Even at nine, her heart was cynical. Nobody ever really got a happily ever after. Maybe what she saw was a happily ever...for now.  
Once back in the nursery Mary shrugged off the entire afternoon and ran to play with her dolls, lost once more in her childhood.

Fortunately for her, she _was_ only nine. She would never know that her parents ended up being twenty minutes late for dinner that night and that Granny wasn't amused. She would never know what happened on those blankets by that fire.

Happily ever...for now.

* * *

_A/N - Ya'll...I wrote this chapter TWICE. Because I didn't like what I came up with the first time. I'm marginally more satisfied here. Basically I had this image of Robert taking off Cora's boots and yeah. That's all. ANYWAY. Thanks for reading and your kind responses! A couple of non-members have left great feedback but I have no way of responding to them so I'll do so here:_

_Ali - I never said that Robert confessed. Just that Cora knew. And I have no doubt she did know, because of something Robert said at the christmas special - that Cora chose her timing well. How could he possibly damn his daughter for her actions, when he was nearly guilty of the same? That said, I don't even know that I'm really angry at him about the affair. I mean, that was bad. But for all the reasons you mentioned, I could understand it. And I think Cora could too. No, what pissed me off and what I had hoped to convey in the chapter was how wrong he was being about the girls. About Mary. Every time Cora stood to defend their daughters, he was vicious. She never said a single word against Matthew, but when she dared try to put Mary first, he was horrible to her. When she tried to defend Sybil he accused her of going "American" and left. You know what, Robert? Bang a maid. Bang ten maids.* But know that when you cross Cora on the subject of her daughters, she will cut you. AND SO WILL I. ;)_

_Antigone - I would looooove to hear Violet's thoughts on it. Although she can be disgustingly pragmatic and would only have gotten onto him for being stupidly emotional about Jane. Sex is one thing but thinking he could love her? Ridiculous. Stupid, stupid man. But Cora has forgiven him and so must I. Just because he's fallible doesn't make him bad. I guess._

_*I don't actually mean this._


	6. Let's Never Stop Falling In Love

**VI. Let's Never Stop Falling In Love**

It was nearing two in the morning after the Servant's Ball when Carson began his last pass through the house. Although the family had retired for bed, Mary and Matthew called them all back downstairs for an announcement. An impromptu celebration of their impending nuptials, with most of the guests in their nightwear, broke out in the library. They called for more champagne and multiple toasts. It was only when her Ladyship pleaded that they might all get some rest that the party broke up for real.

Assured that everyone was once more snug in their rooms, Carson took it upon himself to inspect the lower rooms one last time, to confirm that everything had been cleaned away and the rooms were presentable for the morning. It had been a good night and tired as he was, he was somewhat loathe to see it end.

Happiness was not nearly as often a guest in the house as in years passed, and it warmed the old Butler to know that there was still some goodness left for his family to enjoy.

Especially for Mary to enjoy.

Stepping into the large front hall he stopped short. The grand foyer was mottled with shadows but Carson could clearly make out the duo at the foot of the staircase. His Lordship stood with his wife in his arms and the two moved to music only they could hear.

"It's good to have you in my arms again." His Lordship said in a low voice, his words obviously intended for only his wife.

Her Ladyship didn't respond but to step closer and rest her head on his Lordship's chest. They continued to rock side to side to an unheard melody and Carson quickly backed out of the hall, leaving them to their memories.

* * *

He allowed a quarter of an hour to pass before trying again. They were still dancing, although all respectable distance had vanished between them. Her ladyship's head was tucked beneath the Earl's chin and her pale fingers clutched at his nightshirt.

The slow waltz had become a gentle sway,, as though consoling one another, and his lordship murmured against his wife's tumble of dark hair. His hands roamed up and over her back, tracing over the skin beneath her delicate night dress. There was nothing hurried about his exploration, only the sense that he was re-learning the territory.

Her ladyship stretched into his arms, languid as a sleeping kitten, and his Lordship let out a low rumbling groan.

Carson was forced to back out the way he came once more.

* * *

Another thirty minutes passed and Carson was relieved to find the foyer empty. He crossed the wide space to the stairs, stood for a second listening to the quiet house, before heading to the doors of the library. He'd just put his hand on the knob when he thought he heard muted laughter behind him. He paused only a second before poking his head into the library. Everything was calm and quiet inside.

He repeated the process with each drawing room, the dining rooms, the morning room and then the front hall.

This time when he crossed the foyer he was sure he heard something. A low moan, a gasp, then silence.

Carson looked around for something - some weapon - but found nothing suitable save for a silver candlestick off a nearby chippendale.

He weaved in between the large stone columns, attempting to be stealthy. The noises he'd heard had faded away, so for a few moments he was almost convinced they were merely figments of his imagination.

He was just about to lower his makeshift club when he startled across his Lordship and his Ladyship.

Partially deshabille.

Leaning into his wife, his lips attached to her neck, his Lordship supported his weight with two hands against the pillar on each side of his wife's body. Her Ladyship's eyes were nearly closed but they snapped open at the sight of Carson rounding the pillar, the silver candlestick held over his head.

Carson barely stifled a yelp, stepping backwards and averting his eyes. The Countess' reflexes, however, were not nearly as sharp. She let loose a squeak of surprise and the Earl stiffened against her. Carson did not want to ruminate for any length of time on where her Ladyship's hands were, pressed between their bodies, or his Lordship's reluctance to turn around.

"I'm sorry, sir." Carson backed away, his cheeks flaming and the candlestick held limply at his side. "I thought you were an intruder."

Lord Grantham waved him away, still not turning from his wife, who looked to be stifling tears. Or laughter. It seemed as if the Earl was searching for words, an explanation but his mouth only opened and closed methodically.

"I'm sure you're tired so I will bid you goodnight." Carson didn't wait for his Lordship's response. It was his job to minimize their embarrassment and it's not as if this was the first time he'd stumbled upon the Lord and Lady of the house in flagrante delicto.

As was his duty, Carson turned on his heel and headed to the backstairs. The muted laughter of the Lord and Lady followed him as he went.

He allowed himself to smile, despite the embarrassing situation. After all, happiness _had_ been a rare visitor in Downton. He wouldn't begrudge the Earl and Countess their stolen moments.

He just hoped they would save them for the bedchamber in the future.

Although he wasn't about to hold his breath.


	7. Love Is Not A Victory March

**VII. Love Is Not A Victory March**_(spoilers for season 3)_

Isobel Crawley sat in the front window of Crawley House, looking out over the near-empty street. It was lonely without Matthew in the house, although she was glad of his happy marriage to Mary. Even if she wasn't sure Mary _could_ make him happy. The sky was a cold gray and clouds were rushing across the horizon, with more coming steady on their heels. It looked as though they would have rain before long, and Isobel decided she would retire upstairs to her bedroom to read. It was hours yet before dinner and she was tired.

She was about to turn away from the window when two figures walking up the road passed by her gate, and Isobel couldn't deny the knowledge of them. After so many years, she would recognize Cousin Robert and Cousin Cora even at this distance. They walked slowly, and for the first time in a while, Cora's arm was threaded through that of her husband. Her large hat shadowed her face and most of Robert's, but they appeared to be in deep conversation.

It appeared that the devastation of Sybil's passing was beginning to pass, and the couple was able to mend their broken hearts.

In her more charitable moments, Isobel thought their marriage very suitable. They seemed to get along well, and though she found Cora to be self-absorbed and Robert to be a bit boorish, they were obviously well-suited partners and, for the most part, very kind. In her less charitable moments she couldn't help but find their entire arrangement scandalous. It seemed nobody in the family thought it odd to mention their rocky beginning, and even the Dowager was known to mention Robert's shameless fortune hunting. It was so foreign to Isobel, who married for love and companionship and partnership, that she couldn't help but feel it sullied the institution.

She wasn't even sure which she found more distasteful - the man who would sell himself for a fortune, or the woman who would buy him. Isobel supposed that, despite their ignoble beginning, it only mattered that they had come to love one another and devote themselves to their family.

And yet, with the loss of Sybil, Isobel had seen in person, in her own dining room, the division between them. It was a shame, a terrible shame, that they were suffering apart so.

She watched as they came to a stop outside her gate and seemed to be deep in discussion. Then all at once, Cousin Cora's knees buckled and Cousin Robert barely managed to catch her before she fell. By the time Isobel made it out the door and down the drive, Cora was alert although leaning heavily on her husband, who was murmuring encouragements and endearments against his wife's temple.

"You must bring her inside at once." Isobel commanded in her most authoritative nurse tone. She was relieved when, for once, neither brooked any argument and followed her into the house. They settled Cora on the sofa in the front room while Isobel called for tea.

Robert blanched at the recollection of who, exactly, would be serving the tea but in his credit he remained quiet.

Holding two finger's to Cora's impossibly frail and chilled wrist, Isobel was slightly alarmed at the thready nature of her cousin's pulse.  
"My dear," Isobel asked gently, inspecting Cora's face and taking in the shadowy bruises beneath her eyes, the chill of her skin, the grim lines of her mouth. "Have you eaten anything today?"

Cora shifted uncomfortably and pulled her hands back into her lap. "I haven't been hungry."

"Cora, I know you're grieving but you'll do nobody any good if you don't take care of yourself. It's terrible to lose a child, I know it is-"

"Do you? Do you know?" Cora asked, and it was with some relief that Isobel saw her cheeks stained with some color. "In your infinite wisdom do you know what it's like to lose not one, but two, children in a handful of years?"

"Cora-" Robert attempted to intervene, but an icy look passed from her eyes to his and his hand dropped to her shoulder.

Isobel waved away the apology that was not forthcoming and instead turned to fetch Ethel, who was taking far too long to appear. Perhaps giving her cousin a few extra minutes to recover would not be amiss.

No sooner had she stepped out of the room that Robert called out to her, having followed her out.

"She's had a shock today." He said by way of explanation.

"You must get her to rest," Isobel spoke quickly under her breath. "She is too pale and I fear she's lost weight. When was the last time she ate anything of consequence? Does she sleep?"

The twisted pain on Robert's face told Isobel he had no idea how his wife slept.

"I have nightmares." Cora spoke from behind them, and both Isobel and Robert jerked around to stare at her. She was white faced beneath her hat, and she held her palms up in front of her. "Sybil is dying and there's so much blood. It's on my hands."

Robert gasped sharply and Cora continued to inspect her fingers, as though she was seeing that blood before her even now in the light of day.

"I can't save her, and I think it would just be simpler if I could die in her place." Cora's gaze finally focused on her husband and she held her palms out to him, Isobel all but forgotten. "I can't sleep without you there. I need to know you forgive me."

Isobel would have loved to back away, but as they were currently filling her hallway, the only way to the stairs was currently blocked by the husband and wife. She slunk further against the wall and wished she did not have to bear witness to any of this. She may not have any great affection for either of them, tolerating as you do, family that doesn't share your ideals. But her heart broke for them, as well as for the loss of their sweet girl.

"Forgive you?" Robert choked out, obviously taken completely aback. "I thought..."

Cora's face was twisted in heartbreak but there were no tears. Isobel had to wonder if perhaps she had simply run out of them. Cousin Cora was obviously exhausted, thin and pale and filled with the pain only a mother could experience. Isobel knew she was strong, had faced off with the younger American several times and come face-to-face with her iron will. Isobel respected that about Cousin Cora, her fight and fire. It seemed she'd lost some of that, or if not lost it, at least turned it inward. Perhaps her anger at her husband had been only an outward manifestation of the internal strife.

"Dear Robert," And this time, Cora attempted a smile. It was small and tremulous but affectionate nonetheless. "Not everything is about you, darling."

She held out her hand to him, her palm upwards. He slid his much larger hand over hers and their fingers twined together. When Cora placed her palm on Robert's cheek, he immediately leaned into her touch. Cora's thumb swept up beneath Robert's eye and a trail of wetness followed before she leaned forwards into him and pressed her lips desperately to his.

The door to the kitchen opened behind her and Ethel nearly bowled Isobel down with the tea tray, but Isobel hushed the young woman and herded her back the way she came.

The door swung shut behind them, leaving Cousin Cora and Cousin Robert pressed together, holding on.

* * *

_"Happy" thanksgiving? Sorry, after the last couple lighter chaps, we needed a bit of grounding. You know, where we all fall to earth in utter despair and agony. ;) Anyway. Isobel is a tough nut to crack. I just don't like her. And I get the sense that she doesn't like anybody but particularly Cora. Or if she likes 'em OK, she certainly doesn't approve. ANYWAY._


	8. I and Love and You

**VIII. Mrs Hughes - I and Love and You**

When Elsie Hughes first arrived at Downton, it would have been safe to characterize her as awed. In the first few weeks she was cleanly overwhelmed by the size and grandeur of the house. Several of the other maids tried to help her settle in and explained to her the most intimate workings of the household. To the one, each young woman tried to diplomatically describe the young Lady of the house. _American,_ they said in a way that meant this was terribly unfortunate. Don't be surprised by her...habits, they warned.

At their first meeting, Elsie had no idea what they were on about. The Lady was sweet, sincere and distantly kind. Exactly the way she was supposed to be.

Lady Grantham could often be found in the kitchen after the rest of the house had gone to bed. As head housemaid it wasn't exactly Elsie's job to keep watch over her, but she took on the task nonetheless. The rest of the kitchen staff were uncomfortable around her ladyship, who explained to Elsie late one evening that she returned to the kitchen when she was particularly homesick. Back in Cincinnati, she was especially close with Cook, who often made little treats for Miss Cora while she watched. Her happiest memories of childhood were in the kitchen, and thousands of miles away, she sought that connection in the kitchen at Downton.

Perhaps a little unconventional, it was something Elsie herself could understand, being far away from her own home.

The housemaid made sure Mrs. Bing made a few extra treats each week, in case her Ladyship was in need of one.

Elsie had become Mrs. Hughes by the time her Ladyship was expecting her third child. Such a quick ascension was unheard of in only a short 18 months, but Elsie had an inkling that her Ladyship had something to do with her promotion. Lady Grantham had come to rely on the older woman's guidance in running the house. She also seemed to be comforted as they sat in companionable silence beside the stove in the warm kitchen. Her visits downstairs became more frequent in her pregnancy, and worry-lines began to crease her Ladyship's brow more often. Every so often, his Lordship would seek out his wife and herd her back upstairs, his arms protectively around her as he kindly dismissed Mrs. Hughes from her task.

Twice before Lady Sybil was born, Mrs. Hughes found Lady Grantham alone in the kitchen with streaked cheeks. She didn't dare ask what was vexing the Countess, but quietly set a saucer of cookies on the wide wooden work table and poured a cup of tea. The first time, her Ladyship finished her tea and cookies, nodded apologetically at Elsie, and hurried back upstairs. The second time, she lingered, her palms cupping her swollen belly. Her eyes were closed and a lone tear escaped from beneath her long lashes.

Mrs. Hughes was just about to head upstairs to find his Lordship to collect his wife when he appeared in the doorway. He took no notice of the Housekeeper and instead crossed to his wife in three large strides. Their conversation was muted and short, but Mrs. Hughes eyes widened when his Lordship knelt before his wife and pressed his lips gently to her belly. The young woman's shoulders crumpled under whatever grief she was feeling, and she threw her arms around the Earl's neck.

Lady Sybil was born...well...Lady. The house mourned another missed opportunity, especially the Dowager, who was not the least bit silent in her disapproval. Although to be honest, it was obvious the old woman was as smitten with the beautiful baby girl as everyone else.

Mrs. Hughes knew why having a daughter was such a disaster for the Earl and Countess, but she couldn't help but feel a ripple of irritation. They had a lovely family, in a beautiful house, with wealth and privilege. Perhaps their lives didn't turn out _exactly_ as they'd planned - they didn't get _exactly_what they'd hoped for - but they were incredibly blessed in ways they didn't seem to comprehend.

Over time, her Ladyship ceased to visit the kitchens, the role of Countess and mother altering her behavior and her perceptions. It was a little sad, Mrs. Hughes thought, that the young American had to grow up.

But, she thought, didn't they all have to do so, eventually?

* * *

A/N - And everyone is all like "it's about time. damn gina!" and I'm like "BUT THAT WAS HARD!"

Anyway. There was no dialogue for a very specific reason - putting bitchface!vera in her sitting room aside, I don't think Mrs. Hughes goes in for doing much evesdropping. Especially on the family. She has her own troubles to bother to take on theirs. Also, I don't even know when Mrs. Hughes came to Downton. Was she young? But it was after Mary was a certain age. SO WHATEVER. I CAN'T DO MATH. DON'T JUDGE ME.

The next chapter is to be fun and smutty (maybe) but it's being put aside because I have a prompt from the Tumblr Holiday Cobert Pornfest Fic Exchange that I have to get done. But then it's on like Donkey Kong! Also, there are 11 of these planned out total, unless I am otherwise inspired. So we're nearing the end!


	9. Lay, Lady, Lay

**IX. Lay Lady Lay** (definitely M)

It was very late when John Bates finished helping his Lordship ready for bed and began to tidy up. Anna had long since retired to her room, regrettably, so the valet decided to take with him a few shirts to mend. He didn't sleep particularly well, not with the threat of Vera hanging over his head, and he found that keeping his hands busy helped to ease some of the anxiety that consumed him after dark. With one arm full of shirts, he reached for the doorknob to the ante-chamber. It had been fidgety for days, and took an extra jiggle before it opened. He made a mental note to have the door seen to in the morning.

Downstairs the kitchen was warm and inviting, and thankfully the rest of the servants had gone to bed. John wasn't sure he would be able to set across from O'Brien for an hour or two, even if they both kept their counsel. The woman was just odious, and put her cold mood out into the atmosphere for others to absorb. John had enough pressures to attend to, without dealing with Sarah O'Brien's one-sided vendetta.

At the wooden table, he began to rifle through the shirts, looking for the one with the most stubborn stain to begin working on first. If he let it sit for a while, the stain might lift easier. With irritation he sifted through the shirts again and realized with frustration that he must have left that particular shirt upstairs. On a regular day he might have been tempted to bugger it all and go to bed, but the laundry was to be picked up the next morning. It was important to have all the shirts ready to go before he retired for the night.

Leaving the load behind, John headed back up the stairs, moving quite slowly. After such a long day, his leg bothered him all the more and made the trek that much more of an inconvenience. He cursed his own forgetfulness the entire way.

It was late and the house was mostly silent. Fortunately for John, his Lordship rarely slept in his dressing room. The times he did usually coincided with a particularly distressing evening that left her ladyship particularly peevish. Usually by morning his Lordship was in such a foul temper that John dressed him quickly and then bailed, so that his Lordship could take a few minutes to appease his wife before heading down to breakfast.

John was distracted with thoughts of the ways he might make up with Anna, once they were properly wed, so it wasn't until he had closed the outer door to his Lordship's dressing room behind him that he realized the room itself wasn't empty.

Low voices filtered into the small ante-chamber space and John froze. The murmur was so low that he could not make out any particular words so he edged closer to the second door. It was open several inches.

A low, guttural groan had John jumping back as he realized what must be happening on the other side of the door. He backed up as quietly as possible until his back hit the outer door. He turned the handle behind him and pressed, trying to move quickly.

The door didn't budge. The knob turned but the door stayed shut. He jiggled the handle as he had earlier, to no avail. He tried again, turning the knob more sharply then pressing his weight against the door.

No good.

He felt a cold sweat bloom in concert with a full body blush as he realized the full breadth of his predicament.

Trapped. In the ante-chamber of his Lordship's dressing room. While his Lordship and his wife were...engaged...just on the other side of the door.

Many, many years ago under far different circumstances, John and Robert had been...well. Comrades. They were still friends, but there was a pronounced shift in stature that changed the nature of their interactions at Downton. But in war-time, many of those boundaries faded and John thought back to the nights they spent at camp, sitting around a fire. They were men's men, then. Talking, boasting, and mostly drinking. They were lonely men who missed their women, and sometimes the talk was not the most delicate. One evening, after demolishing several bottles of sub-standard scotch, the men sat in a circle and reminisced about the things they missed most with their wives. The talk was quite blue, and filled with guffawing laughter and tall tales as the men recounted their most memorable encounters.

When it was Robert's turn, the young man had laughed and sputtered, but aided by the amount of alcohol in his system, had begun a story of his gorgeous wife. Within minutes Robert had become caught up in his tale, lost track of his audience, as he let slip some salacious details. He was well-pleased with her enthusiasm and her willingness to try new things. It hadn't taken much to convince her to meet him in the empty smoking room during one of his parents more boring dinners. With lips and hands he drew forth her consent, before taking her on one of the very uncomfortable couches. She had come alive in his arms that night. He had told them that she made those that had come before her pale in comparison.

With his story over, the men disbanded back to their tents. Each went to bed just a little frustrated, their predicament exacerbated by Robert's drunken tale, the heat of the fire, the scotch and their own pressing loneliness.

Now John couldn't help but remember Robert's words. The way he had described the alabaster skin he uncovered slowly, and the way she arched into his hands. How she seemed to want him as much as he wanted her. Her sensitive breasts and how she would keen when he touched them, weighing their perfect heft in his palms. How she would call out, not even hushing herself a little bit, encouraging her husband with wordless whimpers and cries.

"Cora," his Lordship's voice was deeper and more gravelly than John had ever heard, and the sound brought him back to his current predicament. He had hoped perhaps they would move into her Ladyship's room, to the comfort of the bed, but no luck. He tried to think of a way out of the situation that didn't involve being discovered or bursting in on his employers as they were intimate.

John moved closer to the dressing room door again, chancing peek to see if perhaps they were moving in the direction of the bedchamber. But the door was only open a few inches and he couldn't exactly tell where they were. One step to the right, however, and he was startled to see them in full body. He jumped backward an inch before realizing he was seeing their reflection in the full-length mirror.

John's mouth gaped. His Lordship had his wife pressed against the door to her bedchamber. One of her thighs was wrapped around his waist and his lordship held it there, using the leverage to drive into her at a very determined pace. Her nightdress was not completely off, pooled above where they joined. His lordship's head was tucked against her chest, buried between her breasts as she clutched at his neck so desperately her knuckles were white. Her ladyship's head was tossed back against the door and already there were a few red marks along the column of her throat. She bit her lip and then cried out again, as his Lordship shifted positions and drove himself even deeper into her.

It had only taken a handful of seconds, and Bates was stepping back away from the door, knowing he could never unsee it, but wishing all the same. He tried the outer knob again, this time half hysterical, and still the latch would not release. The grunts from the room next door became more rhythmic, their moans in tandem with the distinctive slap of skin on skin. John wanted to press his palms into his eyes, wished it was possible to erase a mental image through force of will.

But the sounds went on and then John did press his fists to his ears, turning until his face was pressed into the corner of the small chamber.

"Robert," Her ladyship's voice was strained and breathy, and her words were knocked out of her in a staccato that must have matched the rhythm of their pistoning hips. "Make me yours."

"Mine." His lordship growled, and John began to recite poetry in his mind, anything to draw his attention from the couple on the other side of the door.

"Harder, darling."

"Love you."

It went on. It might have been minutes, it might have been hours. But the desperate sounds of pleasure on the other side of the room continued, only somewhat muffled by the arms Bates had wound around his head. He had to admit, he was somewhat impressed. Considering his age, Robert's stamina was absolutely amazing.

After a time, John realized that the room had gone quiet, suddenly devoid of the sounds of reckless love-making. He hoped against hope that they couple had finished or moved on. With extreme care he unwound himself from the knot he'd twisted into and straightened up. If they'd moved back to the safety of her ladyship's bedroom, he could doze his way through the outer door and escape to the relative safety of the servant's quarters. Stepping up to the dressing room door he pressed his ear to the wood before hazarding a glance back into the mirror.

Lord Robert stood with his wife wrapped in his arms. It was difficult to tell where his body ended and hers began. The lamps in the room had burned themselves low, and the moonlight was slipping through clouds, casting them in ever-changing shadows. Lady Cora's hands made soothing passes over her husband's back as he held her, caressing gently. She dropped feather kisses along his neck and shoulder, as he buried his face in her hair. The frenzied desire of minutes earlier was replaced with a deep and abiding affection and mutual adoration. It was perhaps more intimate than their lovemaking, and John backed away once more.

With a prayer to whichever deity might be listening, he tried the outer doorknob again. To his surprise it opened easily and he tumbled into the well-lit hallway blinking fast. Without pausing to think on the change of his fortune, he made his way as quickly as possible back to the servants quarters, determined to forget everything he'd just seen.

* * *

_A/N - I don't think Bates is a voyeur, but I'd swear I saw an ante-chamber outside Robert's dressing room door. Ever since then I've been fascinated by the idea of someone getting caught in there. It could happen! Also, you'll never convince me the boys didn't have boy-talk during the war. _

_I did not intend to write this until AFTER my christmas story was completed, but that one is a MONSTER that gets longer every time I open the file so I figured I would knock this out early. _


	10. How Not To Lose Things

X. How Not To Lose Things (spoilers for 2012 Christmas Special)

During the summer of 1921, Susan Flintshire found herself in a very odd situation. Upon the arrival of the Crawley Family for their Holiday, she was confronted with a somewhat startling revelation. Cousin Cora, the American, had somehow gone from being the interloper to an object of envy for Susan. Where she had once been a shy, unsure girl overawed by Duneagle and all the rest, she now stood a formidable woman. In years past, Cora Crawley would have been (uncharitably) considered gaudy. Over time, truly overnight it seemed, she had become an elegant, fashionable and genuine woman. It would have been easier for Susan if Cora had also become catty, rude and snobbish. Quite frankly, for all the abuse she suffered from their set over the years, it was something of a miracle she hadn't. Instead, she was calm and tractable, with a dry sense of humor.

All that, Susan thought, she could forgive. The part she found most difficult to reconcile was Cora's apparent happiness in her match with Robert. The looks they shared, their quiet conversation, the ease with which they simply sat in silence, were all difficult to ignore. To add insult to injury, their very happy presence appeared to intensify all of the shortcomings in Susan's own marriage. Her husband, usually difficult and distant at the best of times, became particularly untoward. Just when it seemed she would acclimate to the stoney distance that existed between herself and Shrimpie, he would take a swipe at her and her confidence would plummet. Having Cora around was as though she had an indispensable ally and her dearest enemy staying in her home.

Susan resolved to watch, and learn, just what it was that set Robert and Cora's marriage apart from her own. Perhaps then she'd know where they had gone wrong.

* * *

They loved.

Susan tried to appear unruffled by the realization that Robert still shared a room with his wife. Not that there was anything wrong with it, surely not, but it was yet another sign of the unconventional that appeared to be functional for the couple. They retired together the first night, Robert waiting on Cora until she had seen to the comfort of her daughters. They held hands up the wide stone staircase, Cora leading the way by a few steps and tugging him behind her. His face was alight with anticipation and when Cora reached the top she turned, pulling Robert towards her. Her smile, wide and open, was tinged with heat and just as they passed out of view, his arms circled his wife's waist.

* * *

They flirted.

Robert chose to sit beside his wife at the luncheon by the Loch, and whenever Susan glanced their way their heads were together conspiratorially. They seemed to enjoy the lack of structure found in the formal dining room, and instead of joining in on the conversation of the table they were wrapped up in one another.

Robert rested his hand beside Cora's on the table, and every so often his fingers would nudge at hers, until they were playing a chaste game across the cloth. Cora even blushed when Robert leaned close to whisper in her ear, turning away from him and tucking her chin. It was reminiscent of their courtship, except now Robert's interest was genuine. The entire trip back to the house found both Cora and Robert sending looks in one another's direction, slanted eyes and half smiles and swallowed grins.

Inspired by their child-like play, Susan sidled up to Shrimpie as they unloaded the vehicles. Her shoulder brushed his, and she readied a small smile.

He stepped away, a vague apology tumbling from his lips, not even bothering to look at her.

Summarily rebuffed, Susan returned to the house by herself avoiding the sight of Robert leading Cora into the garden.

* * *

They mourned.

Late into the evening, as the family filtered to bed, Susan ghosted the halls of her own home. The tapestries and paintings, the heavy ornate silver, haunted her. They were relics of a past life, for she knew they would be gone before the turn of a new year. For most of her adult life, these things had been a source of pride for her. Over time they had become trappings of a most elegant prison, and she looked on them with disdain. She intended to settle in the library, the only room that didn't seem to mock her with opulence, but when she opened the heavy oak door she found Robert and Cora seated side by side on the sofa closest to the fire.

Cora was tucked into Robert's protective embrace, her pale face turned into the curve of his throat. His arm passed soothingly over her back and her shoulders shuddered. The tiara she had worn earlier dangled from her fingertips and tendrils of her hair fell to brush her cheeks. When she realized they weren't alone she sat upright abruptly. Her nervous expression melted instantly when she saw the intruder was Susan.

Tear tracks reflected in the firelight and Cora offered her cousin a tremulous smile. Robert did not loose of her, holding her tight to his side.

"I just miss her so much." Cora explained, and Susan could only nod. For all their rough patches, Rose was still very much alive. Susan had the strongest urge to run to her youngest daughter and embrace her. But she knew it wouldn't be desired or appreciated. Instead she excused herself, and Cora melted back into the arms of her husband.

* * *

They laughed.

Cora hovered over Mary incessantly, her concern reflected comically in her eldest daughter's eyes. Susan knew Mary to be almost insufferably independent, a streak that had obviously not diminished with age nor marriage.

After the luncheon Cora perched beside Mary and patted her knee, concern gracing her delicate features. Robert stood behind his wife's chair, his expression proud but indulgent. He had once told Susan that he liked to think Mary the most like him, that it seemed to be a source of pride for Mary herself that she was so like her father. But when he looked at Mary, with her willfulness and her determination, he saw reflected Cora. Perhaps Mary was more English than her mother, with marginally less sentimental sensibilities. But in Mary he also saw a strength of character far surpassing his own. Mary, he knew, would be the architect of her own destiny. In this way, she favored her mother. Cora, and Mary, had a steely determination that brooked no argument. Mary went about securing her destiny in a more forthright manner, while her mother was far more subtle. But the two women shared a strength of character that Robert often marvelled at.

"Mama," Mary tried to speak sensibly, but a hint of the recalcitrant child bled into her tone. "I'm fine. Really."

"You are stubborn as your grandmother." Cora sniffed, irritated.

"I'm not the least bit stubborn. I'm simply correct." Violet added, though nobody was speaking directly to her. Cora and Mary rolled their eyes in unison and Robert merely grinned.

"I seem to recall you were equally resistant to anyone telling you what to do when you were pregnant, my dear." Robert reminded. His tone was gentle, but Cora turned narrowed eyes on him nonetheless.

"Pardon me?" He was unphased by the ice in her tone, his mouth tilting upwards in a sly grin. This was obviously an old conversation reborn once more.

"I can do it myself, Robert." The entire family parroted before dissolving into laughter. Even Violet twittered behind her fan. Robert's palms cupped his wife's shoulders and she brushed her cheek against his fingertips.

Susan had difficulty returning the smile Cora sent in her direction.

* * *

The Gilles Ball turned out to be the boiling point. Susan, feeling outnumbered and cornered, argued with Shrimpie in the back stairs, not even bothering with abashment when Robert interrupted them. She didn't care if he knew, if everyone knew, just how unhappy she was. She would expose the farce of their life, if she thought it would do any good at all.

What resentment she felt towards Cora and Robert dissolved over the course of the evening, as she slowly came to terms with the true source of her sadness. She watched as Rose gravitated towards the Crawleys, choosing to find shelter in their harbor, looking more relaxed when she was near them. The closer Susan got to her daughter, the darker Rose's expression became. The young Flintshire danced with Robert, and her smile was more genuine than Susan had seen in years. When she settled once more between Cora and Violet, stress seemed to melt from her face...until she caught her mother staring at her.

It occurred to Susan, over the course of the evening and a handful of drinks, that Rose was not seeking out _people_, but warmth. It was evident that the Crawleys, all of them, had a deep affection for one another. Mary and Matthew were terribly happy together, and their future child. Cora and Robert could not have been more obvious in their devotion. The usually cutting Violet was uncharacteristically protective of Cora, and could often be seen bestowing consoling looks and touches on her daughter-in-law. Even Edith, who had so often been distant and grumpy with her lot in life, was energized and devoted to her family. It seemed as though loss really had tightened the fabric of their relationships.

Rose was searching for the thing that was missing in her own home - love. And while both Shrimpie and Susan adored their daughter, their issues with one another were slowly asphyxiating their youngest child. Rose, who was full of life and excitement, was all that Susan had left of the good years of her life. Loathe as she was to let her child go, she knew that it would be the kindest thing to allow Rose to experience a true family while she was still impressionable enough to appreciate it.

The last thing she would ever want would be for Rose to acquire herself an unhappy match like that of her parents. Unconventional as the Crawley family might have become, they were still looking like a better choice.

_How humbling_, Susan thought.

* * *

"Shrimpie wants her to live at Downton while we're in India."

Susan perched gingerly on the edge of Cora's bed, battling a remaining niggle of jealousy as Cora sat with her breakfast tray across her lap. Even newly risen from sleep, Cora was lovely. Perhaps it was happiness that kept her so youthful, and the years of stress and despair that had aged Susan so wretchedly. It didn't matter, not really, and Susan set her thoughts aside to focus on the conversation at hand.

"I've told Robert I would never agree to that against your wishes." Cora's blue eyes were so terribly kind, Susan couldn't help but feel a measure of relief. Cora was truly an ally, and someone it seemed Susan could trust with her beloved, infuriating child.

"I know. Thank you. It's not often I get support in this house." She thought maybe Cora would understand, Susan's mind wandering back to the rocky first years of Cora's appearances at Duneagle. "But I wonder now if he isn't right and we don't need a rest from one another. Apart from anything else, I can't bring her out from Bombay. Would you be prepared for all that?"

"If you want me to be, and only if you want it." Cora's eyes narrowed, and something like pity edged into her gaze. "But what about you and Shrimpie?"

"Oh, we'll soldier on. Our sort never accept defeat." Susan spoke dismissively, although truthfully. She thought she could face anything, even a loveless marriage, if she could be assured her daughter was safe and happy. And still... "Even if I wish we could."

Susan stood to leave but slowed and turned. One more worry still existed. "Will you speak well of me to her? Not every day..." Her voice cracked just a little, as she was faced with the realization that she was essentially giving her daughter over to another. She was giving up on herself as a mother, in order to ensure the happiness of her child. That had to count for something in the grander scheme. "But sometimes."

This time Cora's expression was deeply sad and she tilted her head just a little. "Of course I will, I promise."

The trip back to her own room left Susan time to think, to ruminate, and to second-guess. How their lives had changed over the years.

But this...this was a good choice. It was a choice for Rose. Susan hoped that what Rose witnessed in Downton was what a family should be like. What love should look like between a husband and a wife. What a real life, an honest life, could bring her. Rose was so hungry for adventure, for excitement, to break the chains binding her to her parents. It was no wonder, as her parents were perpetually unhappy. If only Rose saw what life could be - not the speakeasies and the dancing and the liquor. But the rest of it.

Downton, it seemed, was Rose's best chance.

Yes, it was strange how things changed. If she and Shrimpie couldn't change with it, at least they would send Rose with those who could.

* * *

_I am so terribly not entirely happy with this, but I soldiered on and posted it. This was NOT intended as part of the original story, so I'm not sure why I kept beating at it, like my brain against a brick wall. But now I've exorcised it so I can get back onto plan. Shellz Kiwi offered a challenge that I'm integrating into this story so technically there are 3 more chapters planned (2 more than the original total). What that means is...who knows how long this will be. LOL! _

_ANYWAY. I truly think Susan decided to send Rose to Downton because she watched this family - this family that she stood as judge and jury of for so long (it was Susan, was it not, that originally wrote the letter to Violet about Pamuk?) - and realized how much they love each other. Robert and Cora are walking around, eyeing furniture like horny kids. Mary got her fairytale wedding, her perfect husband, her baby AND an inheritance to save her father's bacon (AGAIN). Edith, despite not having a traditional path, is invigorated and happy with her occupation and her borrowed husband-boyfriend. This family has stumbled and struggled but survived because they genuinely care about each other. I think Susan also realizes how toxic her relationship with her husband is for her daughter. If Shrimpie doesn't value his marriage (and make no mistake, he does NOT) and belittles his (equally) shrewish wife, is that the example they want to set for Rose? Rose who is already searching for the polar opposite of her parent's relationship in the most unhealthy way possible. Shrimpie says it best, about learning to love young. They both want Rose to have a better example of love. _

_OK. Notes almost officially longer than story. Shutting up now._


	11. Call Me When You're Sober

**XI. Call Me When You're Sober**

It was a rare night that Branson was out late driving the family. It was an even more rare ocassion that he drove only the Lord and Lady. However a late invitation to a dinner with the Steelman's at End of Hours came in and it was decided that they could not miss it. On the way over the lord and lady had a discussion about the merits of attendance, with Lady Grantham insisting it was vital while the Lord looked less than convinced. According to the Lady, it was bad enough that all three of her daughters declined the invitation, and to have the Earl and Countess also call off would have been a terrible insult.

As far as Tom Branson was concerned, the whole affair was just ridiculous. A lot of spoiled people spoiling each other some more, all the while worrying about offending them. Worried about offending people they didn't even truly care about.

Once they arrived at End of Hours, Branson drove the car around the side of the house with the rest of the motors and sat inside reading until it was too dark to do so. Then he waited in the dark. He tried not to let his thoughts drift to the topic of late - the dark haired, dangerously temperamented youngest daughter of the family. Her plain spoken ways and yet kind demeanor was a dangerous combination and Branson was both compelled towards her yet skeptical. It wasn't unheard of for well-heeled young ladies to attempt to tempt the servants into an affair simply for fun. Yet something in the storm-tossed gray of her eyes made Tom believe that Lady Sybil could not be that kind of person.

And if he was being perfectly honest, which he tried to be as often as possible, it was unlikely that her parents could have raised such a daughter anyhow. True they were aristocrats and therefore despised, but they were good, honest people who tried not to harm those around them. Lady Grantham always had a smile and kind word for him, and the Lord often spent their drives engaging Tom in discussion of the latest book he'd read. For all their faults, the family treated their servants like people, and that was a rare thing.

It was very late into the night indeed when Tom was summoned to the front of the house to collect his employers. Torches liked the circular driveway and turned the front into near daylight, and Branson joined the queue of motors waiting to pick up their charges. When he finally pulled to the front steps and got out, he could see that Lord and Lady Grantham were leaning heavily on one another, and Lady Grantham appeared to be nearly asleep.

Both the Earl and Countess wobbled their way to the car when Tom opened the door for them, and while the Lady slid in gracefully, Lord Grantham tumbled in after her with a loud bark of laughter. It took Tom's helping hand and several tries to get his Lordship's slippery feet beneath him and safely into the car. The couple's obviously drunken giggling only increased as he got in and began the slow trek down the gravel drive.

It was not in Tom's nature to spy on the people in the back of his car. He might not always approve of the families he served, but he did respect something called privacy. Still, he had ears and eyes and it was hard to block out the laughing and murmuring coming from just behind his head. A quick glance into the rear view mirror revealed the Lord and Lady close together on the seat, their faces flushed even in the shadowed darkness, their eyes focused solely on one another.

Resolving not to look again, Tom steadfastly kept his eyes on the road before him and resolved to make it the quickest thirty minute trip he possibly could.

"Oh darling," Lady Grantham breathed from behind him, and Tom's shoulders hunched a bit as he leaned forward. As though putting a few inches of space between them would make it any less uncomfortable. "Why did you let me drink so much?"

"Because it was the only way we were going to survive it." Lord Grantham responded with a snicker. "They are insufferable."

"We'll be the talk of the county." Lady Grantham tried to sound abashed, but failed when her words melted into a giggle of her own. "I never should have let you talk me into the second drawing room."

"Had Daniel simply minded his own bloody business, no one would have found us!" Lord Grantham huffed indignantly. "Besides, is it really so scandalous to find a man with his wife?"

"In this day and age, my love, I think it is."

Silence reigned for a time and Tom held out hope that the Lord and Lady might have fallen asleep. But a glance in the mirror proved that they were not asleep, but simply otherwise engaged.

"You are a temptress." Lord Grantham sounded as though he were attempting to murmur, but he was far louder than he realized, the drink dulling his senses enough that he was almost but not quite shouting. "I should punish you, my dear."

Lady Grantham's laughter was loud and saucy. "I invite you to treat me like a naughty school girl _once_ and you can't seem to get the thought out of your head."

Lord Grantham's response was lost on a groan of pleasure before he choked out, "Keep that up and I will have to punish you for certain."

The Lady made no response but his Lordship hushed quickly and his breathing became more rapid. Finally he hollered. "No more, no more!"

When it seemed he finally caught his breath, he spoke again in the overloud tone of a very drunken man. "Things aren't what they used to be, my love. And if...well. There won't be much fun left for you."

Tom absolutely did not want to think about what was happening behind him, and he was thankful it was full dark and well after midnight. That was his employers would not see his burning ears. Although quite frankly, as tuned as they were to each other, he's not sure they would notice him if he were driving with a leprechaun on his shoulder in the full light of day, stark naked.

There was another long stretch of silence that was punctuated by the rustle of clothing, occasional whimpers, and a sigh from her Ladyship that was far short of dignified.  
It was followed up by a giggle, a laugh, and then a snort. "Robert, stop!"

Undaunted by his wife's plea, his Lordship continued with whatever torment he started that Tom absolutely did not want to imagine. The laughing and rustling continued until there was a thud against the back of his seat. Instinctively he glanced in the rearview mirror and was momentarily alarmed to find the backseat empty. But then his Lordship straightened up, pulling Lady Grantham with him, and Tom refocused his attention forward.

"Cora, love, you are being incorrigible." His lordship admonished in a tone that belied his meaning. "What has come over you?"

"I don't know." She answered in the most serious tone she'd used all evening. "Maybe the drink. Maybe seeing all our friends so frightfully unhappy. Maybe the excitement of the upcoming season."

"Not because you find me so devastatingly attractive you simply cannot help yourself?"

"Oh, there's always that." She tittered again before falling silent. "And then there was that moment this evening. When you were talking to Sir...Sir...Sir Whatshisface. And he said something...I don't even remember hearing it. You were so angry with him. Robert, I thought you were going to slap his face with your glove! I must admit, it stirred something."

"Ah, the days when we were young and impressionable and I fought duels in your honor?"

"No. Yes, maybe. You're very handsome when you're angry and your face flushes. Passionate. It wasn't long after that you dragged me into the second drawing room, so obviously I wasn't far off."

"Sir Whatshisface." Robert's tone darkened, a tone Tom had only heard a few times. Thankfully never directed at him. "He spoke of Mary and it was quite unsavory. And then he said...oh, never mind."

"He said what, darling?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with."

"Well now I must know."

"He simply made a remark about our marriage. About it being a transaction marriage, and how he hoped I was still offering services for payment rendered."

Silence reigned.

"Sir Whathisface is an unsufferable ass." Lady Grantham said at last, and Tom's eyes whipped to the mirror. Lord Grantham's expression was just as surprised and Tom had to stifle a bit of a his own laughter. "He's married to that horse-faced woman Lady...Whatsherface. And from what I can gather from the way she talks, there are no services offered in her home. She's taken a lover!"

"She has not!" Gossip, it seemed, was attractive even to Earls. "Who?"

"She wouldn't say, but whomever it is has made her _very very_ happy."

There was a long pause. "Darling, do I make you happy?"

Lady Grantham didn't miss a beat. "Nearly every time."

"That's not what I..._nearly_ every time?"

"Most often, yes." Her tone was saucy, but her husband appeared to have taken her words to heart.

"When have I not?"

"I don't keep a list, my love."

"But you always seem to be happy."

"Being near you is enough to make me very happy, Robert."

Another long sulking silence. "But Cora. When have I not made you happy?"

"You want an example?"

"I want a specific instance."

"Honestly Robert, I don't keep track. And it's not your fault. Sometimes I just...it's not your fault."

"But you always seem happy."

"Robert, it is a gift of the female physique that she can feign happiness where a man cannot."

Lord Grantham's gasp was audible in the space.

"Now you must tell me. When did I fail to make you happy?"

"My God, Robert, it's not important. Please, darling, forget I said anything. I was just toying with you."

"You weren't. I know you weren't. When?"

"Last week." Lady Grantham finally said, irritation in her tone. Obviously this was not the direction she had wanted the conversation to take.

"When last week?" Tom had to hand it to them both, it was a rare thing for a long married couple to be confused as to which time last week. It was almost sweet, if he cared about such things.

"Oh for heaven's sake Robert." Lady Grantham sighed, obviously resigned to the turn the conversation had taken. "On the chaise. Everything was going so well and then you wanted to go to the bed. We got there and it...it just wasn't the same."

"But you...with me."

"No, I did not. Must we have this conversation now?"

"No, of course not. We don't have to have this conversation ever. I just find out after thirty years that I'm not satisfying my wife. Let's never have this conversation again."

"You are terribly petulant when you're drunk." Lady Grantham admonished. "You asked me a question. I'm sorry to have have answered it honestly. But you know, I said nearly every time. You make me happy far more often than not, and from what I gather that's better than what many of my friends get."

"Women discuss these things with one another?"

"Of course not. We speak of tea and jewelry and needlepoint and nothing else."

"Don't be snappish. I don't know why I haven't heard you say this before now."

"Because it is my job to shield you from the things that will wound you unnecessarily. And this most certainly wounded you."

Another long pause as they turned up the drive to Downton. Tom thanked God that it was almost over, for the whole drive was terribly uncomfortable.

"If it makes you feel any better," Lady Grantham continued conversationally. "Sir Whathisface isn't even capable of making his wife happy anymore."

"Impotent!" Lord Grantham nearly shouted, gleeful. "No wonder he's so foul tempered."

"I told Lady Whatsherface that if I ever found you in the same state, I would divorce you at once."

"You wouldn't."

"I would. Why do you think I put up with you?"

"Because you love me?"

"I do. So much it hurts."

"Even if I don't make you happy all the time?"

The house, stately, grand and well-lit came into view and Tom was flooded with a sense of relief.

"Even if."

They went oddly silent once more and when he pulled up to the wide stone steps of the entrance way he turned in his seat. The Lord and Lady were very well occupied with one another and Tom thought about interrupting them.

He thought better of it and turned the car in the direction of the garage. By the time he turned off the engine and exited the car, he could have struck up a band and the couple in the backseat wouldn't have noticed.

With a rueful shake of his head he headed towards the house and his bed.

On the way there he mused on love, marriage, and fidelity.

He had no idea why it was Lady Sybil's face that crossed his mind's eye at the thought, but he did know that he hoped to one day have a partnership as strong as that of his employers.

Whatever else their flaws, they were in love.

They were happy.

He couldn't help the sly grin on his face.

Happy.

A glance back in the direction of the garage just before he entered the house and he silently wished Lord Grantham the best of luck in making his wife very very _happy_.

* * *

_Place this somewhere before the end of the first series, before they go off to London for the season. We're going to pretend like Cora's "spike" in fertility has made her far more outwardly amorous. I know the timing puts Cora's "naughty school girl" comment in the wrong place but I couldn't help it. Let's pretend like they've had that fantasy before, mmkay? _

_Just a bit of drunken bantering for a Tuesday morning. I like to think both Robert and Cora speak far more plainly in private. They've been married too long not to, especially when their defenses are lowered with alcohol. I also think Cora has a wicked sense of humor and she often toys with Robert, who makes himself into too easy of a target sometimes._

_And, thanks to GranthamGal, I am feeling sort of irritated at him anyway and I wanted him to suffer. SO SUE ME._


End file.
